


Sonder

by tiamo (rinne)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Gen, focused on julian and maria's friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinne/pseuds/tiamo
Summary: It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to her, but she’s not a kid-- or rather, she’s notjusta kid. She’s a bright eyed, innocent, highborn kid, and he wonders how the gods saw fit to place her here.





	Sonder

He had and hadn’t thought about life after the war. It was inevitable; Julian had often strayed toward the thought, led toward it by idle daydreams and memories of the way Lena smiled at him in those times where things were almost right (but it wasn’t right, and could never be-- not when he was the company kept by someone like her). If the idea teetered on his peripheral in his waking hours, then in his dreams, it consumed him. How wonderful would it be to have her back? To hold her tight and whisper into her hair that she’s safe, and to hear her laugh again?

Then, of course, what if he never did? Every dream of saving Lena was followed closely by the fear of losing her, every imagined whisper of his name morphing into a chilling shriek as the darkness swallowed her whole… The thought had woken him up on many nights, and driven him to the training grounds on many more. It was better to work towards a future where Lena was free than to sit and dwell on the what ifs of the ones where she was not.

But in no future his mind had tiptoed around had he thought they’d wind up with two princesses standing at their door. He knows them, of course-- how could he not know the princesses of his own homeland? ( _former_ , he corrects himself; there is no sovereign here now but Marth) Still, it doesn't make it any less startling to see them hovering at the threshold of his humble home, afraid to cross over it and step into their lives. Minerva seems less imposing now that her brow is fretfully furrowed and her armor has been shed (though that isn't saying much, not when she stands tall as a titan and is built like one, too). Beside her, Maria's hands are folded in front of her, her hair curtaining across one shoulder as she peers inward curiously. Compared to her sister, she seems almost impossibly tiny.

“Come in," Lena tells them, the words formed around a gentle laugh, and she and Julian step aside to open the way.

Maria is the first to step forward, smiling gratefully at them both as she passes through the doorway, her dress fluttering as she walks. It surprises Julian to see that her sister does not follow, but instead stays rooted to the spot, the same troubled furrow still creasing her brow. Then again, it’s hard not to wonder how much weight those small few steps hold for the commoner who was once a queen. Maybe it means everything to the princess who lived her whole life within a castle; maybe it simply meant nothing to the one who never had.

 

Then Maria holds out her hand.

 

Julian’s not sure why such a simple gesture changes his mind, but he sees the way Maria waits, sees the trepidant way Minerva’s eyes waver, and the time that hangs frozen between the two is so significant that he’s absolutely sure it could never be nothing. The dragoon is so slow to so much as lift her hand, but the little cleric never says a word, and slowly, ever so slowly, Minerva places her hand in hers. Maria’s fingers squeeze her hand reassuringly--

“Let’s go,” she murmurs, and time moves _forward_ ; Julian thinks he sees her smile as she pulls her sister across the threshold.

All of the sudden the powerful once-queen of Macedon is stumbling into their humble home with little reluctance and even less grace, and the air comes alive with the sound of helpless giggling and boots scuffing across the floor. _What a sound_ … Julian joins in before he knows it, his low chuckles creating a joyful harmony with Lena’s lighthearted laughter; even Minerva is not immune, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she rights herself.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” she begins, once the laughter has died down, but Lena holds up her hand before she can finish.

“Welcome home.”

  
• • •

 

The sisters seem to adjust to life at the convent quickly; in fact, they might even adjust to it more quickly than Julian adjusts to them. Though they’re all equals now (er, sort of), he’s all too aware of the difference between the worlds they’ve lived in, because they carry them in their eyes. In Minerva’s, he sees the battlefield, fraught with losses that cannot yet be grieved and a strength that still carries through her movements-- carries _her_. Their eyes meet from a distance; he waves, she nods, and they return to how they had been. There is an understanding between them, he’s certain, though they might not exchange words; there is no need to.

When he looks to Maria, he sees stone halls and shelter and castles too grand for his knowing, and he looks away.

What could he ever understand about her?

“You still don’t talk to them,” comes a quiet voice, and a hand along with it, resting gently against his arm. He catches it in his own and brings it to his lips as he continues to stare across the field, murmuring softly against Lena’s knuckles.

“There’s nothin’ for me to say.”

She meets his words with silence, which doesn’t surprise him. Ever the thoughtful one, Lena… Even taking to heart the worries a no-good scoundrel like him never voiced. It would have been so easy for her to be mad, too, with how he was treating their new housemates, as well as the camaraderie the two clerics shared…. But instead, when Lena tugs her hand away, she does so slowly, to let him know no such anger exists, and brings the palm of her other hand gently to his cheek.

“Julian…”

His eyes linger a moment on the forms of the two princesses in the distance, surrounded by children, and then flicker back to Lena. Another pause, and he leans into the caress, one of his hands covering the one of hers; her eyes soften at the touch.

“Julian,” she says again, and he closes his eyes and hums. “Do you dislike them?”

“Nah, that ain’t it,” he replies, waving his free hand (and the look of relief in her eyes is sweet enough that he could simply kiss her… but he stows the thought away and settles for fondly staring).  “You know, the little one… She’s so proper, always sayin’ please and thank you and excuse me. Bright girl. Real sweet smile. You can really tell she used to be a princess.” He rubs the back of his neck. “She’s got no business crossing paths with a guy like me.”

That gives Lena pause, and she gazes into his eyes, pensive, like she wonders if that’s really the reason. Not that it should surprise her; sometimes, at his lowest, he wonders what _she’s_ still doing here.

“Do you think she’s bright because she’s blind? ...I think she’s brighter because she _sees_.”

They both look towards the little princess then, her smile still shining clearly even from such a distance. She certainly seems like a normal little girl, laughing and running alongside other children the wars had left behind, but he knows better than to brush aside Lena’s words. She knows her far better than he does, after all.

“...Still haven’t got a clue what to say,” he mumbles around a kiss pressed against Lena’s hair, and she laughs sweetly.

  
• • •

 

Julian’s statement holds true for a long time, for every time he crosses paths with the younger cleric, he finds that the cat has got his once silver tongue. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to her, but she’s not a kid-- or rather, she’s not _just_ a kid. She’s a bright eyed, innocent, highborn kid, and he wonders how the gods saw fit to place her here. Just what would he do if she ever asked him if he had any cool stories like the other children did? Regale her with tales of crime and every injustice he regrets? He could never. For all Lena’s reassurances and all the things he knows the girl’s been through, she seems like she’s never known the world outside her fairytales.

“Hello, Mister Julian,” she says from behind him, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. When he turns around, she’s giggling, one hand held close to her mouth; the gesture reminds him of Lena, just a bit. “How are you today?”

He would’ve had at least three cheeky replies for her if she’d been anyone else (and ten, if she were Rickard), but she’s no one but herself, and the words die on his tongue.

“...I’m fine,” he says, his hand falling to his side. “But I should go. Got stuff to do.”

It’s not a lie, but he doesn’t look back as he walks away; he’d never meet her eyes.

 

• • •

 

In time, however, he settles into some sort of rhythm with Minerva. Neither of them would particularly call the other ‘friend,’ but they do not mind each other’s company. They have known some of the same losses, after all-- they have loathed the same man, woken from the same nightmares, and find their solidarity in that. Tonight, it even leads them to share a midnight drink.  
Julian sets their glasses on the table, sliding into the seat across from her.

“You two adjustin’ alright?” He asks, and they sip their water at the same time. Nights like this, he misses any sort of alcohol, but the children are mischievous (no cupboard is safe) and he knows how Lena hates it and just like that, he banishes the thought from his mind.

“As well as we can. I welcome such peaceful days after so many years of the opposite. As for Maria…” She raises the glass to her lips, but hesitates to take another drink, her eyes flickering up to meet his. “She worries someone here might dislike her.”

 _Ah, shit._ He fidgets with his glass, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Minerva seems more amused than anything. “Well… I _don’t_ ,” he begins, and Minerva nods, closing her eyes.

“I did not think you did,” she replies coolly. “But she does. She frets about how she cannot make friends with Lena’s beloved.” Her glass clinks as she sets it back upon the table. “So, tell me: why can’t she?”

“I…” The wood grain suddenly looks very interesting. “She’s, y’know…” He gestures. “Good… innocent. And a princess, to boot. And me? I’m not one of the bad guys anymore, but… well, I used to be. What business does a guy like me have even thinkin’ of makin’ friends with a girl like her?” It’s his turn to raise the glass to his lips, the words at the tip of his tongue all too ticklish. “...I don’t wanna be a bad influence.”

 _“ Hah_ _!”_ Minerva snorts, and Julian chokes on his drink, startled by the sound. “You? You are hardly the worst man she knows.” But though another, quieter chuckle follows her words, there is no humor in it. His eyes flicker towards her then, expecting to find a burning hatred to match the fury he saw in her face the day she reclaimed her throne--

But the empty disappointment he sees instead rattles him to his core.

“You mean…?”

“Michalis, yes,” she replies, and he exhales when she does. “You need not be afraid to say it; I know what my brother is-- or rather, what he has become.” She downs the rest of her glass and sets it heavily upon the table. “Conjecture aside, it is fact that he is a murderer.”

 **Murderer**. He supposes he’s cheap change, compared to that, but it’s hard to feel good about the revelation right now.

“Does she know?” The question escapes him before he can stop himself, but Minerva meets his gaze with tired eyes.

“How could I ask?” For once, her voice is weak, little more than a rasp as she leans over and rests her head in one hand. “When it happened, she was so young-- so easy to fool-- but I suppose we all were, back then.” Another laugh; it rests painfully in the air between them. “Perhaps… now…”

The dragoon sits back up, strength seeping back into her posture, but not her eyes. “Do you know what she said to me, the day Medeus fell again? ...The day we got them back? The moment all clarity returned to her eyes, she looked up at me and said… ‘ _how is brother?_ ’” This time, as her posture slips, her whole body sags, and in the moonlight he can almost see how the whole world rests upon her shoulders.  
When she speaks again, her voice cracks.

“She loves him. Whether she knows or not, I haven’t the faintest, but… she _loves_ him. ...I cannot rob her of that.”

There is nothing for him to say.

 

He rises, eventually, once the silence has lasted long enough, taking her glass along with his and refilling the both of them; she grunts appreciatively when he returns, straightening up once again.

“Do you know why she is not jaded?” Minerva asks, once they’re both halfway through their third glass, and Julian meets her gaze questioningly. “It is because she is stubborn, and has decided not to be; I doubt _you_ could ever change that.” She reaches over the table and slaps his shoulder at that, laughing again when he chokes on his drink a second time. This time, it seems much more joyful.

 _“ Naga’s knickers_ _,”_ he gasps, wiping his mouth (and if it weren’t for the late hour of the night, he’s certain the dragoon would be roaring with laughter). “Why’ve you got that axe at all? You could kill a guy with your fists!”

“That’s the idea. I am not all too worried about you, however.”

“Wh-- hey!” Minerva chortles at that, and though he’s certain he’ll have a bruise in the morning, he’s glad to see the twinkle in her eyes. “C’mon now, have a little sympathy-- I used my hands for pickin’ locks, not swingin’ swords.”

“Oh, I have sympathy aplenty,” she assures him. “I simply said I was not worried. You won’t die-- not while Lady Lena still needs you.”

He stares at her, bewildered by the direction this is taking, and she sighs at him.

“I know you to be a reliable sort. The good ones always are, after all.”

With that, she smiles, taking their cups to the kitchen as he blinks speechlessly at her back.  
...Perhaps he _will_ try to talk to Maria, after all.

 

• • •

 

That much is easier said than done, however, and after so long of avoiding Maria’s path, Julian doesn’t quite know how to cross it. He couldn’t find the time to greet her in the morning if she didn’t have any to spare-- the girl was almost as busy as Lena! ...Or perhaps she actually _was_ , now that she’d taken some of Lena’s morning duties off of her back. Gods above, he already knew he lived with one saint, but was he actually living with two?

Then it’s afternoon by the time he’s free from his own duties, all the wind has left his sails, and he’s left leaning on the fence yet again. By all means, it should be easy to stumble across his housemate in his own home and make it seem natural, but he can’t seem to push himself to get there.

“She’s cooking,” Lena says, drawing close to his side and laying her head upon his shoulder. “We went to the market together after breakfast. She practically begged me to let her do the cooking tonight once I let slip that you enjoy oxtail stew.” A soft, musical laugh. “I think you’ll like dinner tonight.”

“Ah, gee… She’s really givin’ this her best, huh?” Shame creeps up his neck at the thought, burning and uncomfortable.

“Of course,” Lena replies simply. The guilt gnaws as his gut more acutely now, but he doesn’t offer up any excuses. “You know, Dear… I think making friends with each other might do the both of you some good.”

He hesitates. “...You think?”

“Mm…” The cleric hums quietly. “I’m almost certain.” At that, she kisses his cheek and tugs him away from the fence he’s become so fond of. “Come now, let’s go. I should check how she’s doing with the stew.”

“Lena--” She glances back at him, one brow raised (though a smile still plays at her lips); he clears his throat. “ _\--Honey--_ Do you really need me for this?”

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and so many years later, his heart still skips a beat.

“Of course I need you.”

But he was up on his feet before she’d even said a word.

 

“Hello, Maria,” Lena greets their little chef as they walk in. She is tending to the pot, and with the lid off, the room smells particularly delicious; suddenly, Julian can’t wait for evening to arrive.

“Hello, Lena! Just a second!” The former princess sets the lid back on the pot, and when she turns around, her eyes grow wide. “Oh! Mister Julian?” She flashes him a smile, and though it’s just as bright as all her others, he can hear the nerves creeping into her voice. “Hello to you, too.”

“That smells delicious,” Lena says, and her smile widens when Maria breathes out a little ‘thank you.’ “Tell me, though: why stew?”

At that, both thief and cleric snap their heads towards Lena, wide eyed and nigh scandalized, but the way her smile widens yet again into a grin speaks of little remorse, if any; Julian would relish her joy more, if he weren’t so mortified.

“I…” The girl’s fists grab hold of her dress, her shoulders hunching up shyly. “...thought Mister Julian seemed worried lately.” She peers up at him, meekly, through her bangs. The partial truth would be enough to soften Julian’s heart, but knowing the whole of it absolutely melts it and leaves him feeling like a downright fool. “...Are you alright?”

“...Yeah,” he manages, after a moment. “Yeah, I’m fine. Well, except for one thing.”

Immediately, she’s straightening up, leaning closer, holding a worried breath. “What? What is it?”

He drops a hand against her head, ruffling her hair before he’s even said a word to hide away his embarrassment. When she looks up, beaming at him, hair unkempt, with a smile that would put the sun to shame--

“Just ‘Julian’ is fine.”

\--he wonders why he ever hesitated to know her.


End file.
